


Cousin Jimbo

by christinefromsherwood



Series: 007 Fest 2019 [20]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 15:47:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood
Summary: Bond was not happy at all about having to bleach his hair and go to prison, where they served only prison food, and none of Della’s delicious cooking, which was what he had been looking forward to when he first heard they’d be coming to liaison with the Americans.





	Cousin Jimbo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soufflegirl91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/gifts).

> written for the Crossover Day, and souffle, who wanted to see more of the worlds of Logan Lucky and James Bond meeting in a crossover:D :D
>
>> _prequel to **[behind blue eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20013148)**, but please read "behind blue eyes" first :) I think you'll enjoy it more that way_  

> 
> Happy Crossover Day!  
I hope you have fun reading this, souffle! (I originally planned it going differently, but then I got writing and this came out instead:D ) 

It was Q who went to the prison to meet Joe and explain everything.

Bond wasn’t thrilled at this. To be fair, none of this particular assignment filled him with much joy.

But then, it wasn’t supposed to.

He truly and honestly hadn’t meant to call one of His Royal Highness’s friends “a twat with the looks, smell and intelligence of a piece of guano” at that soiree.

Well, he hadn’t meant for it to be overheard. (The man would keep blathering on and on about how he was certain that it was those blasted immigrants who were at fault for his indigestion/his servants’ laziness/bad programs on the telly/him losing his reading glasses ect.)

But overheard it was.

By His Royal Highness, the insulted peer AND Her Majesty.

The Queen _had_ giggled—at least Bond thought so—but he was still, as a punishment, given over to the Americans to do with as they pleased for the next four months, so it seemed that not even Her Majesty’s amusement could save him from his superiors’ ire.

Yes, sir, he did know that he had been sent to the event to observe Lord –‘s behaviour and to see if he’d make contact with the Italian Ambassador’s wife’s best friend’s sister who through Q’s intervention got an invitation as she was suspected to have been in contact with Rosa Klebb of the fearsome SMERSH. 

No, sir, it wasn’t his fondest wish in life to drive his boss to drink and a self-imposed exile in the deepest Amazonian jungles.

Yes, sir, he really did blow it and should make himself scarce for a while so as not to threaten MI6’s future at the upcoming budget meeting at which the aforementionied "piece of guano" was to play a key role, but could he please take his Quartermaster with him?

That was the only positive thing about this whole undercover operation: Q had come with.

The possibility of a four-month absence of the Q-branch’s head boffin was accomplished due to the fact that M and the powers-that-be were pretty ticked off at Q, too—he had, uncharacteristically, attended the soiree as well and had laughed at Bond’s comment with a particularly loud and carrying snort—and the lesser boffins were all extremely capable, self-reliant and well-trained. Also, the budget meeting was a race for resources with MI5 they absolutely could _not_ afford to lose.

So off Q went, and never, not once for the entire assignment, had Bond been less than pleased to have Q with him.

Well, alright. Maybe there _was_ that time in the motel when Q wouldn’t stop complaining about _all_ the mosquitos in the _entirety_ of the United States ganging up on him in the night. But over all he had been a- And that time when Felix had shown them Joe’s mug shot, and Q had laughed till he slid off his chair onto the floor and lay there wheezing for five full minutes, BUT OVER ALL Bond was really happy to have Q with him.

He hadn’t been assigned for missions this long since before they had got together and the idea of Q waking up in their flat without him, and Bond not knowing whether he hadn’t forgotten to take his meds and really was taking a varied route to the office every day (“I know you know this, Q! This is the first thing anyone looks for! For Christ’s sake, just order the company driver! An hour in traffic won’t kill you, but an assassin definitely WILL! Please!”), well it wasn’t an idea Bond had enjoyed contemplating for the first five minutes of Mallory throwing those marching papers on his head.

There was a scuffle at the door of the safe house.

Cancelling his reclining pose and reminiscences, Bond was on his feet in a flash, Walther in hand.

But when the door opened, it was only Q and Felix who stumbled through it, supporting one another’s weight and wiping at their cheeks.

“Well?” Bond said expectantly, as he re-holstered his weapon.

“Look, it’s cousin Jimbo!” Felix said from the door, pointing at him.

Q gave a half-sob-half-moan and hit Leiter in the shoulder.

“Stop it, Felix, no more!”

“Well?” Bond asked again, trying to hold onto his dignity.

He had a feeling he knew what the two were laughing about, and was suddenly reconsidering whether the fact that Q would be staying with Felix and Della for parts of the mission really was an advantage.

“Well what?” Felix asked, blowing his nose on an already crumpled tissue from his pocket.

“Did he accept?”

They turned to look at him like he was the one acting like a fool.

“Darling,” Q said and Bond appreciated neither the condescending tinge his voice carried, nor his meaningful swinging of the drug store plastic bag. “The CIA is offering him an early release from prison and a holiday, which deal the MI6 then sweetened by its Quartermaster hacking him on an all-expense, all-star pleasure cruise around the world. Did you really think he was going to refuse?”

Well, when Q said it like that!

Still, didn’t mean Bond was all that chuffed about having to bleach his hair and go to prison, where they served only prison food, and none of Della’s delicious cooking, which was what he had been looking forward to when he first heard they’d be coming to liaison with the Americans.

But duty called, so Bond gave Q a sour look, snatched the bag from his hand and strode off into the bathroom.

As he listened to the badly muffled giggles from the living room and ran the tap for hot water, Bond silently cursed his great-great-great-aunt Celia for emigrating, and teaching her progeny to keep such excellent records that the CIA was able to find the tenuous connection between him and the incarcerated and unbelievably similar-looking, Joe Bang.


End file.
